


Long As I Can See the Light

by thisisallbullshit



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Bipolar Disorder, Friends to Lovers, M/M, One Shot, Pining, also they have a cat, ian is obsessed with music, mickey is obsessed with ian, ooc maybe? idk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-09
Updated: 2017-08-09
Packaged: 2018-12-13 06:43:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11754255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisisallbullshit/pseuds/thisisallbullshit
Summary: Honestly, this is just a super typical friends-to-lovers fic.





	Long As I Can See the Light

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, okay  
> I haven't written anything besides essays since I was like 13 and it was shit (like absolute shit) so i genuinely have no clue how this is gonna be so plz lemme know if it sucks ass, I'm not in the business of embarrassing myself.  
> Also, I have a couple things.  
> 1\. In the main part of the story, Ian and Mickey are 23 & 24\. I think. Something like that.  
> 2\. I really, truly hate when people project their music taste onto the characters in their fics, so I want to make it clear that's not what I'm doing. I think that Mickey would be mostly into heavy metal but also kinda down with whatever the fuck, and I think Ian's itunes library would be super diverse, spanning from like Louis Armstrong to Led Zeppelin to Alt-J to Post Malone, ya know?  
> Okay anyway, please enjoy.

Mickey was awoken from his slumber sometime in the middle of the night by the sound of someone making their way through his apartment. He might’ve been scared, were he not a Milkovich, and if he didn’t immediately recognize the muffled cursing as the person attempted to navigate their way to his room in the pitch darkness. So, Mickey wasn’t surprised when he heard jeans being pulled off, followed by a heavy weight bouncing onto his bed.

“You smell like sex,” Mickey greeted his best friend without bothering to open his eyes.

“The guy I just hooked up with lived in a fucking pigsty,” Ian explained as he wriggled his way under the covers, “No way was I staying the night there.”

“Then why exactly are you bothering me right now when you have your own perfectly good apartment?” Mickey grumbled, even as he leaned into the warm body lined up along his back.

“Your bed is all warmed up already.” Ian wrapped his arm around his best friend’s stomach and buried his face in his hair. “Plus, I like the way you smell.”

Mickey’s cheeks heated. He opted to go back to sleep instead of trying to come up with a reasonable response to that. “’Night, Firecrotch.”

“’Night, Mick.”

 

-

 

Mickey’s infatuation with his best friend began approximately the same moment their friendship did. Mandy had been bringing around her new boyfriend a lot lately, and Mickey always made a point to avoid the couple at all costs, because if this was anything like any of Mandy’s past relationships, Mickey would probably get an eyeful of his sister mid-coitus if he wasn’t careful.

As it turned out, however, this guy was nothing like any of Mandy’s past boyfriends.

They had poured into the house one afternoon while Mickey was on the couch playing videogames. They were giggling, arms thrown around each other’s shoulders; Mickey was just about to make a break for it when he noticed the pizza boxes in their hands, and he figured he could afford to stick around for a little bit longer if it meant free pizza.

The first thing Mickey noticed about his sister’s latest boy toy was his fluffy red hair, followed by his face full of freckles. The kid looked like a total _dork_. Decidedly not Mandy’s usual type, but Mickey didn’t dwell on it- he could smell bacon on that pizza and that quickly took over his attention.

“We brought dinner, assface,” Mandy greeted as she set the food down on the coffee table, before making her way to the kitchen. The ginger sat down in the chair and offered Mickey a small smile, which he ignored. “Beer?” she called out to the two of them.

“’Course,” Mickey replied at the same time the kid said, “Please.”

Mandy returned with three beers and three paper plates. Mickey switched the TV off his video game and back to cable, and the teenagers ate in relative silence as they half payed attention to the episode of South Park that happened to be on. Mickey was reaching for a third slice when his elbow bumped into his sister, causing her beer to spill down her shirt.

“Fuck!” Mandy exclaimed as she stood up. “Thanks a lot, douchebag,” she snarled as she gave him a hard glare before stomping off to her room to change.

“You’re welcome!” Mickey called back sarcastically.

“Um, I don’t think we’ve met.” His attention was drawn back to the ginger sitting in the chair who had been silent up until now. “I’m Ian.”

Mickey didn’t respond, instead just giving him a look he figured was intimidating enough to remind the kid who he was, and that he could easily kill him should he fuck with his sister, but the kid didn’t seem to get it. Instead, he continued, “So, are you Mickey or Iggy or Joey?”

Mickey rolled his eyes. “Look, you should know that if you _ever_ hurt my sister-“ he started before Ian cut him off.

“Oh, I would never! The girl carries a shiv everywhere she goes, I’m not an idiot,” he assured, “I couldn’t, anyway. I love her too much.”

And there it was. _I love her._ Just like that, Mickey was hooked. See, _nobody_ loved a Milkovich, and he doubted any of them had ever heard those three words directed at them in their lives. At this point, none of them expected it from anyone, ever. But here’s this kid, with his big doe eyes and his casual fucking proclamations of love. It was then that Mickey realized Ian Gallagher was nothing like any of Mandy’s other piece-of-shit boyfriends. It was also then that he wondered for the first time if a Milkovich could be worthy of love.

He pulled out a cigarette and inhaled deeply as he continued to stare at the 15-year-old in front of him. He was fucked. _So_ fucked. Because this was the moment that his first-ever crush sparked inside of him.

“Mickey,” he finally answered, passing the kid his cigarette. And come the fuck on, how could he _not_ develop a crush right then, what with the kid smiling so fucking _bright_ at the simple gesture. It was the dorkiest thing he’d ever seen, Mickey kind of wanted to punch him in the face, just to get rid of this feeling in his gut. He didn’t, of course. Good thing, too, because if he had he probably wouldn’t have ended up with a brand fucking new best friend.

 

-

 

Ian woke Mickey up for the second time in 12 hours by banging, what sounded like, every fucking pan Mickey owned together in his attempt to make breakfast.

Mickey groaned and checked his phone for the time. Of course, it was bright and fucking early, because no matter what time Ian Gallagher fell into bed, he was always up with the sun. Apparently over at boot camp, they’d beaten that into him enough to form a perpetual habit before he ended up being sent home with ruined dreams, a bunch of scary pills, and a crushing diagnosis following a psychiatric evaluation.

Mickey sighed. He could never go back to sleep once he’s been woken up in the morning. Accepting his fate, Mickey reluctantly rolled out of bed, picking an old pair of sweats up off the floor and tugging them on. “Whatever you’re making better be fucking worth being up at this ungodly hour,” he grumbled as he made his way to the kitchen, rubbing his eyes groggily.

He was met with music playing softly from his laptop, which Ian had sitting on the counter, as he stood in the middle of Mickey’s kitchen, fucking shirtless, damp hair sticking to his forehead, looking way better than anyone had the right to this early. What a prick. “Mick, it’s 9am! I’ve already gone on a run, showered, and burned pancakes this morning.” His smile didn’t falter when faced with Mickey’s scowl at the prospect of their ruined breakfast. “Can’t burn coffee, though,” he assured, handing him a hot mug.

Mickey huffed as he sat down at the table, taking a sip from his mug. Ian had taken the initiative to add two tablespoons of sugar and just a splash of creamer, because he knew that’s how his best friend liked it. Mickey blamed the warm feeling in his chest on the hot beverage. “You’re re-making those fucking pancakes. Least you can do after waking me up in the middle of the night.”

Ian grimaced, and Mickey already hated what was coming. “Actually, you’re out of mix.”

“What? I just bought a whole box of it!”

“Yeah, I burned a whole lotta pancakes. Your neighbor actually dropped by to make sure the apartment wasn’t on fire. How did you even manage to sleep through all that?” Ian wondered with a laugh, and how could Mickey stay angry when his beautiful best friend is standing 3 feet away, giggling as he starts making French toast? He couldn’t, which happened to be a reoccurring problem throughout Mickey’s life.

 

-

 

In retrospect, Mickey really should’ve figured it out a lot sooner. As it turns out, though, Mickey is some kind of idiot, because it takes witnessing Mandy and Lip making out on a couch at some house party for him to realize she and Ian weren’t really dating.

Well, it actually takes Mickey turning to Ian, exclaiming, “Um, Firecrotch, I don’t know if you noticed, but your girlfriend is currently cheating on you with your brother,” and Ian only looking mildly shocked.

“Poor Mandy, Lip treats girls like shit. He’s gonna shatter her fucking heart,” Ian muttered with a frown.

Mickey’s mind was going a mile a minute. “Wait, are you two not dating? Did you guys break up and fucking forget to tell me?”

Ian smiles a little at his friend, shaking his head slowly, condescendingly, like Mickey was a child. “Mick, we were never really dating. She was my beard. Jesus, it’s been a year and you’ve never seen us so much as kiss, you _really_ didn’t suspect anything?”

Mickey’s heart was going to pound out of his chest. “You’re fuckin’ _gay_?” he hissed.

Ian nodded simply.

Mickey took a moment to rethink everything he’d witnessed of the couple in the past year, and, okay. He supposed it made sense. Ian and Mandy were never particularly romantic or overly affectionate, but Mickey had assumed they were just making an effort not to be while in front of him. Then Mickey wondered if he should apologize to the guys he beat the shit out of, after overhearing them talk about how Mandy had just fucked the linebacker on the football team, for even implying that his sister would ever cheat, because Mandy doing that while single is entirely plausible. But then again, those assholes had no right to be talking about her sex life, so no fucking way was he about to apologize.

After that, Mickey frowned. He felt a little sad, betrayed. “How come you never told me, man? We’re friends. What, did you think I’d hurt you? You oughtta know I would never-“

He was interrupted by Ian shaking his head vigorously, “Hey, no, I know. God, you’re not Terry. You’re nothing like Terry, of course I didn’t think that,” he soothed, before tugging Mickey closer to whisper in his ear, “I just figured I’d come out to you when you finally come out to me.”

Mickey’s heart stopped. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t think. He was sweating, was it always so hot in here? He was surrounded by people, sweaty bodies dancing and drinking and talking. The music was too loud. It was all too much, he needed to get out. He shoved through throng of teenagers until he was on a back porch. A couple of kids were out there already, smoking a joint. Mickey snatched it from the dude’s hand and snarled at them to fuck off, and they hurried out of the yard. Mickey inhaled the smoke deeply, his hands were shaking.

He heard the back door open and close and knew it was Ian. “Hey,” he said, breaking through the fuzziness in Mickey’s brain, “You can relax.”

The words set Mickey’s thoughts in motion again, and he was filled with panic. How did Ian _know_? How many other people knew? God, Mickey was dead. He was so fucking _dead_. Irrational anger bubbled up inside him and he lashed out, taking a swing at Ian. The fucker dodged it easily, catching Mickey’s wrist like it was nothing, because that ROTC training had been really kicking in lately. “’Relax’? Fucking ‘relax’? Fuck you, Gallagher, if my dad finds out-“

“God, Mick, your dad isn’t gonna fucking find out, calm down.”

Mickey ignored him. “How did you know?!” he demanded.

Ian shrugged. “There’s only so many gay kids in the neighborhood. It’s not surprising that we’ve fucked the same one,” he explains.

“Who fucking talked?” Mickey spit out. Whichever fucker blabbed about him to Ian was about to fucking die. Who knows who else they told?

Ian is quiet for a moment, probably well aware of what Mickey was thinking. Then he sighed, knowing his friend well enough to know that he won’t let this go until he got his answer. “Roger,” he finally mumbled. “Whoa, wait! Mick, stop!”

Mickey didn’t listen, he just continued to march away. “Fuck that! I’m gonna go cut Spikey’s tongue out, teach him a goddamn lesson,” he growled. Suddenly, he felt a hand on his shoulder stopping him. “Fucking let me go, Gallagher!”

“Jesus, he wasn’t just going around waxing poetic about your ass, Mick. He only brought you up to me because he wanted to know if we’re dating,” Ian explained.

Mickey could feel his cheeks heating; he was thankful that it was too dark for Ian to notice. He shoved his emotions down and asked, “Why the fuck would he think that?”

Ian shrugged. “He knows for a fact that we’re both gay, and we hang out a lot. I dunno.”

Mickey took another hit of the joint. “That doesn’t mean we have to date,” he grumbled, “Presumptuous asshole.” He didn’t know what he was supposed to say, what Ian wanted him to say. He still felt embarrassed and angry and stressed and hot all over.

All of that dissipated, however, when Ian nodded emphatically and uttered the words, “You’re my best friend, Mick,” for the first time. It was decidedly the most meaningful thing anyone had ever said to him, and Mickey felt the tension in his body slowly drain out. “I don’t want anything to ruin that.”

Mickey nodded, “You’re my best friend, too.” And for now, that would be enough.

 

-

 

As terrible as Ian was at making pancakes, he actually made pretty fucking good French toast. Mickey didn’t know how that made sense, but was too full to dwell on it. After washing their dishes, he made his way over to the couch, which Ian was already sprawled out on.

“Move over,” he mumbled, before flopping down, not bothering to wait for Ian to actually move. He grunted when Mickey landed on him, but adjusted them until they were in a more comfortable position- Ian sitting up normally with Mickey’s head in his lap.

Mickey closed his eyes and sighed in contentment when he felt Ian’s hand running through his hair, scrubbing his scalp slightly. He felt like a damn cat. Speaking of, a grey fur-ball hopped up and curled up on his chest.

“Hey there, Hannibal,” Ian cooed, petting the cat with his other hand. The feline was actually his, but Mickey had willingly adopted it when they found out that Ian’s roommate was super allergic, and the kid got all teary-eyed at the prospect of having to take it to a shelter.

“You workin’ today?” Mickey asked, opening his eyes to look up at his best friend, who happened to already be gazing down at him.

Ian shook his head. “You?” When Mickey shook his head no as well, a slow smile spread over his face, and he leaned down until his nose was bumping against Mickey’s. “That mean I get you all to myself today?”

It took a minute for Mickey to reply, too distracted by Ian’s blue-green eyes and his lips only a mere couple of inches from his own. He turned his head to the side in an attempt to hide his blush, and Ian moved back to an appropriate distance. “Seems that way,” he finally answered.

“Good, because I made another playlist for you,” Ian said almost giddily, hopping up to go retrieve Mickey’s laptop which was still sitting on the kitchen counter.

Mickey grinned. “Why am I not surprised?” Ian making him playlists had become pretty commonplace ever since he got his job at a record store. He liked to force new music upon Mickey whenever he could, claiming ‘There’s more out there than Metallica and Iron Maiden, Mick!’

Ian returned, setting the laptop down on the coffee table, lifting Mickey’s head, sitting down, and dropping Mickey’s head back onto his lap. He clicked a couple of things on the computer before music started to flow around them. Mickey closed his eyes and listened.

They stayed quiet for the first few songs. As usual, they didn’t seem like they would typically go together, but they kind of did anyway. Mickey recognized one song by Ella Fitzgerald and a few minutes later he was pretty sure Chris Stapleton was singing. He knew Ian rarely made a playlist for a specific genre or sound, he always just picked individual songs he thought matched how he felt. Mickey cherished every fucking one. They were like windows into how Ian felt about any given thing. His favorites were the ones titled “How My Depressive Episodes Feel” and “Songs that Remind Me of Mickey Milkovich.”

“Sounds familiar,” Mickey finally said in response to one song.

“I’ve rediscovered my love for CCR,” Ian explained.

“Is that Cross Canadian Ragweed or Creedence Clearwater- something?”

“Creedence Clearwater Revival, but now that you mention it, I should listen to Cross Canadian Ragweed more often.”

They fell silent for a few more songs, and Mickey let his eyes close again. Between the music and Ian’s hand in his hair, he fought not to doze off.

“When did you make this one?” Mickey asked, eyes still closed.

“Uh, this morning. As I was making breakfast.”

“That have anything to do with why you burned so many pancakes?”

Ian chuckled, “It might.”

“What’s this playlist called anyway?” Mickey wondered. After a moment of silence, he opened his eyes to find Ian looking away, his cheeks colored pink.

Finally, Ian shrugged, mumbling “Haven’t decided yet,” shyly. Mickey’s eyebrows rose, because Ian was decidedly not one to be shy. He was the guy who said what he wanted, and didn’t let anything stop him from getting it. Mickey envied this about him. At his look, Ian rolled his eyes and grumbled, “Just shut up and listen.”

So he did.

 

-

 

When Mickey joined Mandy and the Gallagher clan at the parking lot outside the recruiting station to see Ian off for boot camp a few months after he graduated high school, Mickey thought it was the hardest thing he ever did. He had clung to Ian tightly when it was his turn for a goodbye hug. He was never one for physical affection, but as he gripped Ian’s camo shirt and buried his face in his neck, surrounded by the smell of his best friend, he wondered why the fuck he didn’t do this as often as he could before Ian left. The thought that crossed his mind as he watched Ian step onto the bus was the same thought that constantly occupied his mind in the months following, _I should have kissed him_.

Mickey had changed his mind the next day and decided that the hardest thing he’d ever done was attempt to live without his best friend. He didn’t realize just how huge of a chunk of his life would disappear along with Ian. His phone was devoid of notifications. He made too many pizza rolls for dinner. He instinctively clicked “multiplayer” when playing video games by himself . He heard about a Cubs game and reflexively planned to sneak in with Ian before realizing that was no longer an option. Between all his and Mandy’s moping, they spent triple their normal amount of money on alcohol to make them feel less miserable.

All of that paled in comparison, however, to Ian’s return. Because when Ian came back, it was holding a letter explaining he was being discharged due to mental illness. Mickey knew, without any doubt, that watching his best friend struggle with his diagnosis, unable to get out of bed, cry himself to sleep, go weeks without smiling, was _the hardest thing he had ever done_.

The medication they had prescribed him made him feel like shit, apparently. And switching them up always had an adjustment period that was a couple weeks of hell, only to find those meds didn’t work for him either. And the psychiatrist at the free clinic being kind of a fucking dickhead certainly didn’t help. All of this, coupled with the guilt of his medical bills putting a serious strain on the family budget, _and_ his lifelong dreams of the army being crushed, really didn’t help pull him out of his depressive episode either. Mickey and Mandy and the rest of the Gallaghers didn’t know he was feeling all of this until a couple months later, though. At the time, they just watched Ian lay motionless in bed as their hearts collectively broke.

The Gallaghers and Mandy noticed a huge change in Mickey during this time. Mickey noticed, too. After getting completely shitfaced immediately following seeing Ian sick for the first time, he stopped drinking. He started doing research, learned as much about bipolar disorder as he could, as well as each and every medication Ian was prescribed, and the best ways to look after a loved one with a mental illness. He began staying at the Gallagher’s most nights, too. At first on the floor next to Ian’s bed, because he couldn’t stand being too far away from him at any given time, until one night about a week in, he felt a hand shaking his shoulder, and woke up to find Ian motioning for him to join him on the bed. Mickey didn’t hesitate- getting under the covers and laying on his side facing Ian. He was unsure of what to do next until Ian curled into him, hugging him tightly. “I missed you,” he mumbled into Mickey’s chest.

And Mickey fucking broke, wrapping his arms around Ian as well as a quiet sob escaped his lips. “I missed you, too,” he croaked out. His tears weren’t from sadness. They were because this was the first time Ian was speaking to him, letting Mickey touch him, since he left for boot camp. Mickey decided then that he would always touch and talk to Ian as much as the boy would allow, because he was never taking this shit for granted again. Mickey began to sleep curled up around him most nights, except for when Ian felt extra bad and didn’t want anybody touching him.

The thing that had ultimately begun to pull Ian out of his own head was music, to everyone’s surprise. After a month or so, he began to wear headphones almost 24/7, but he also began to get up in time to eat breakfast with everyone else, and make his own lunch, and go on the occasional walk. Everybody was fucking thrilled with the progress, because even though Ian wasn’t back to his old self, this was a big step from being unable to get out of bed.

What really did it though, was actually Mickey’s idea. He had been walking down an alley behind the Kash & Grab, when he saw a tiny little ball of matted fur rummaging around in some garbage. He got closer to investigate, hoping it wasn’t a fucking rat, only to find a small, grey kitten. Mickey smiled a little, crouching down and holding out his hand for it to sniff. He’d always had a soft spot for cats. He has a vague memory of his mom letting him take in a stray and helping him hide it from Terry, back before she died.

Suddenly, Mickey remembers one of those bipolar pamphlets he’d poured over saying something about a sense of responsibility being good for the patient. This included them being in charge of plants or pets. Mickey chewed his bottom lip, hoping Fiona didn’t kill him for this, and lured the kitten into his hands. He pet it for a moment before putting it in his sweatshirt pocket so it wouldn’t get cold on the walk home.

When he presented the kitten to Ian, Fiona glaring from the doorway, the boy’s eyes went owlishly wide. “R-Really? You really think I can take care of it?”

Mickey had rolled his eyes. “’Course. Don’t ask stupid questions.”

Ian tentatively reached out for it, and to Mickey’s surprise, the kitten eagerly curled into him, purring contentedly. Ian let out a surprised little laugh and stroked its fur gently. Mickey turned to see that Fiona’s gaze had softened, and they shared a smile before she left to give them some privacy. When he turned back around, he found Ian already looking at him, smiling brighter than he had since arriving home. Mickey wasn’t expecting the words that came out of his mouth next, “I love you.”

Mickey kind of wanted to fucking cry, but he’d done that way too often these past few months, so instead he just replied, “I love you, too.”

The cat (the dork had named it Hannibal because of his weird affinity for thriller movies) ended up doing the trick. Ian began doing a lot better once he had something to take care of, a legitimate reason to get up every morning. Soon enough, he got a job at the record store, which he loved, and luckily enough, Mickey got a job at a technology repair shop just down the street. They got lunch together often. Ian was promoted to manager only a year later, so by the time he was 21, he was able to move out into his own apartment, which he actually shared with a sweet girl named Andrea. Mickey followed suit a few months later, saving up a bit more so he wouldn’t be forced to live with some stranger he’d probably hate.

They did okay, for a couple of gay kids who grew up in the South Side. They were content, except for the fact that Mickey was still head-over-fucking-heels in love with his best friend.

 

-

 

Mickey didn’t realize he had dozed off until Ian was flicking his forehead to wake him up. He groaned and sat up, Ian was sitting next to him looking anxious. Mickey frowned. “You okay?”

Ian stared at him a moment longer before saying, “I lied to you.”

Mickey’s frowned deepened. “What about?”

Ian fiddled with his hands nervously before taking a deep breath, a determined look taking over his features. “Last night, I didn’t come here because that guy’s house was gross,” he stated.

Mickey didn’t feel any less confused. “Um, okay. Did you get locked out of your apartment or something? Andre’s out of town visiting her boyfriend, right? Am I gonna have to help you break into your own apartment again?”

Ian sighed impatiently. “No, Mick. Jesus. I came here because the guy I was with kicked me out.”

Mickey’s frown turned into a scowl. “Why? What the fuck is wrong with him? Do I need to kick his ass?”

Ian shook his head vigorously. “No, no. It was, uh… something I did.” He looked nervous again, but Mickey decided to just let him explain. “We were, um- well, okay. You should know I was kind of drunk-“

“ _Ian!_ ” Mickey interrupted.

“I swear I didn’t mean to drink!” At Mickey’s disbelieving glare, he continued to explain, “I was at the bar with Jess from work, and she asked me if I wanted to try some of her drink, I didn’t know it was alcoholic!” Mickey continued to glare and Ian groaned in annoyance. “Fuck, we’re getting so off-subject. Anyway, I was kind of drunk, I went home with some guy. And, uh, we were making out a bit, it was getting pretty heated, and I may have… Fuck, I kind of moaned your name…? And he kicked me out,” Ian finally finished.

Mickey sat there silently. He was pretty sure his mouth was hanging open, but he couldn’t really be bothered by it. His mind was on other things. He was at a loss for words, didn’t even know where to begin. What the fuck does one say in this situation? He finally settled on, “Okay.”

_Fuck. Wrong answer._ Ian didn’t look particularly happy, but continued anyway, the determined look back on his face. “I came here afterwards, because… I dunno. I wanted to see you. I didn’t sleep all night, I couldn’t. I was thinking about… shit. Like, us. And what you mean to me. And how I feel about…” He sighed. “I just fuckin’ watched you. All night. It’s super gay, I know, but…” He’s babbling now, which is decidedly an un-Ian thing to do.

“Ian,” Mickey interrupted, his heart pounding, “What are you trying to say?”

Ian sighed, looking annoyed now. “You really don’t get it, Mick? I tell you that I call out your name in bed, stay up all night thinking about you, and then play you sappy love songs all morning, and you still don’t get it? Jesus, I’m in love with you, you dumbass,” Ian rushed out, his face bright red.

Mickey couldn’t breathe. His heart pounded loudly in his ears. He’s pretty sure he’s shaking. He wanted to scream, cry, jump up and down, but he couldn’t move. Ian continued, “Look I really hope I didn’t fuck us up, okay? So like, if you don’t want to give me, us a try, I get it. But please, just don’t… freak out, okay? You’re the most important person in the world to me, and I honestly don’t know what I would do without-“

Mickey finally snapped out of it, gipping Ian by his fiery locks and smashing their mouths together. It’s messy, all teeth and tongue, and Mickey’s pretty sure he’s making these embarrassing, desperate little sounds in the back of his throat. He kept pulling back to speak only to join their lips together again a couple words later, unable to get enough, “You’re so- fucking- so fucking _stupid_ \- idiot, thinking I wouldn’t- want you.”

After minutes, or hours, who can even tell, they finally slowed down. Kissing tenderly, lovingly, before Ian pulled away. “So you… you’re-“

Mickey cut him off with another kiss. “Of _course_ I’m in love with you, you dumbass. How could I not-“ He cut himself off this time, burying his face in Ian’s neck, breathing in the scent. He wanted to cry a little bit. God, when did he turn into such a pussy?

Ian pulled him back so he could see his face. He was grinning, probably brighter than Mickey’d ever seen. He ginned back before he even realized it.

“You make me so happy,” Ian said.

“You make me happy, too.”

 

-

 

Ian was Mickey’s first kiss.

The night Mickey moved into his first apartment, Ian stayed with him. He didn’t have any furniture yet, so they were sitting on the ground, eating pizza off paper plates. Lip had set the wifi up earlier, so Ian had his laptop open, and cartoon was playing on it that neither were really paying attention to. It reminded Mickey a little of when they first met, except it didn’t, because this time, there’s no awkward tension. They’re with the person they care about most in the world. Ian was telling him about his exceptionally weird experience at the coffee shop that morning, Mickey was laughing freely and openly, Hannibal the cat was wandering around his new home. Mickey was happy this time.

Eventually they set up a big cot on the ground made out of blankets Mickey stole from the Gallagher house. Ian flopped back on it and groaned, “Okay, tomorrow we’re going to Goodwill to get you furniture.”

Mickey laid down next to him with a grunt and nodded in agreement, “How the fuck are we supposed to sleep tonight, though?”

Ian shrugged. “Drugs?”

As it turns out, Iggy’s good weed (that Mickey stole before leaving) does the trick. They smoked it from a bong Mickey fashioned out of a Gatorade bottle, and an hour later, they’re comfortable again.

Mickey loves spending time with High Ian. Similar to Drunk Ian, High Ian is happy and goofy and giggly, likes to sing randomly and usually craves Kraft mac & cheese. Milkoviches are honestly really emotional when drunk or high, which can be embarrassing, so they usually just make sure that emotion is anger, but tonight, Mickey didn’t want to be angry. He wanted to be happy, so he let himself get all emotional and sappy. He got all worked up about how important to him Ian was, how lucky he was to have him as a friend, how he’s the most important person in Mickey’s life.

His drug-addled brain didn’t stop him from saying all that aloud, but it’s nothing that Ian hadn’t heard before from High Mickey, so he just smiled bright and tugged Mickey close to his side. Mickey melted into it and lets his eyes fell shut, intent on falling asleep while he’s comfy, but groaned in annoyance when Ian suddenly sat up, looking like he just had an epiphany.

“Mick, wake up, I gotta ask you something.”

“I never fell asleep, asshole.”

“I gotta ask you something.”

“Fucking what?”

“Have you ever kissed anyone?” Well. Mickey wasn’t expecting that.

“Um. No. Can I go to sleep now?”

“Wait, Mick.”

“Jesus, what?”

There’s a pause. Ian’s laptop, their only current source of light, died, preventing Mickey from discerning his facial expression. “Can I be your first kiss?”

Mickey froze. “Um. Why?”

“I dunno, I just. Want your first kiss to be with someone who loves you, because you fucking deserve it, ya know? And I wish I could take back my first kiss and give it to someone who loved me, and-“

Mickey cut him off by shooting upwards and grabbing his face, tugging Ian closer and tentatively pressing their lips together. Ian ran a hand through his hair as their lips move together slowly, sweetly, nothing like Mickey ever imagined his first kiss to be like. Mickey shuddered. Eventually, they broke apart, but stayed close, breaths hitting each other’s faces. Mickey wished the light were on so he could make out Ian’s expression.

“Can we go to sleep now?” Mickey finally asked, still not moving away. Ian nodded slowly, and they both laid back down, staying close, and fell asleep wrapped together.

They didn’t talk about it in the morning.

 

-

 

_6 Months Later_

As it turned out, the transition from friends to boyfriends was surprisingly easy. Though, Mickey supposed, it probably shouldn’t have been surprising. They were close enough for years building up to the real thing.

Moving Ian into Mickey’s apartment turned out to be easy, too. Most the stuff in Ian’s old apartment belonged to Andrea anyway. Plus, Ian had been staying over at Mickey’s often enough that most of his clothes were already there. They got it done in only a couple trips, then did that cliché thing where they fucked in every room in Mickey’s apartment on the first day of living together, despite the fact that they’d already done that over the past 6 months.

Mickey was happy, not just content, but actually fucking happy. He’d like to think Ian is, too. They’re full-on domesticated. Two former South Side kids, living together, with a fucking cat. Talking about maybe getting a second one named Norman. He never thought he’d get here, never thought he’d get _Ian_ as his first, and last, kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> Um, I hope you liked it. I honestly don't even think I did. I made this up as I went, so it's paced weird, and I think the end is rushed and half-assed bc I just wanted to finish already. Whatever, I'm posting it anyway. Let me know your thoughts & if you want me to write anymore.  
> Oh also, in case you're curious, the songs I kind of referenced from Ian's playlist were Someone To Watch Over Me by Ella Fitzgerald, Tennessee Whiskey by Chris Stapleton, and Long As I Can See the Light by CCR.  
> Thanks for reading


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